He Hates Wednesdays
by ginnyweasleylife
Summary: Clara gets impatient when The Doctor doesn't show up when promised. Short, fluff.


Wednesday afternoon. God, The Doctor hates Wednesdays, she mused.

He was supposed to come on a Tuesday. Which Tuesday, no one really knew. However, Clara was still dragging her feet after he failed to show yesterday. Unfortunately, the chances of him showing up on her doorstep tonight were slim to none-as it was a Wednesday.

A key turned in the front door, and Clara bounced off of her stool at the kitchen island.

"Hello Angie, Artie! Good days? I hope so. Mine was decent. Learn anything at school?" A stream of words spouted from Clara's mouth.

Angie saw straight through her chatter. "The Doctor still hasn't shown, has he?"

This started Clara off tutting. "I'm sorry, was it really so obvious? You know I love taking care of you guys, but, you know, The Doctor..."

"'The Doctor, oh, The Doctor..." Angie mimicked. "Could you make it any more obvious?"

"What any more obvious?" Clara feigned ignorance.

Artie piped in, which was surprising, considering the far-off look in his eyes. "You fancy him. Don't even deny it, Clara, even I can tell."

Artie's remark made Clara think for a moment, and she gave a small shrug of almost-agreement. Her fingers fluttered like small birds, trying to find some better explanation. Staring at the space in front of her, Clara carefully chose her words.

"It's not...it's not just him. It's the places he goes, wherever it is he travels in that bloody blue box."

"So you aren't mad for him, but for his box? Nice, Clara, very nice. Are we invited to the triple wedding?" Angie smirked, quite pleased with herself, and glanced at Artie. He just smiled, rolled his eyes, and walked into the next room.

"You are terrible!" Clara flailed her arms about, making as if she was going to box Angie about the ears. "Twisting my words, you horrid little dalek!" As soon as the last word escaped her lips, Clara slapped a hand over her mouth, but Angie had already burst out laughing-and Artie giggled from the next room over.

"You fancy him!" Angie and Artie yelled, laughing, in synchronization.

Clara stormed off to the kitchen, red in the face and muttering, but grinning nevertheless. "I do not fancy him," she whispered under her breath. Lie.

"Thursdays are ever so much more exciting that Wednesdays, don't you think?" Clara cheerily said to Artie on their drive to school.

"Who're you, Mary Poppins? Did The Doctor tell you that, or did you pull it out of your magic carpet bag?" snarked Artie back at her. It was far too early for him to be cheerful.

"Actually," Clara retorted, "that carpet bag wasn't magic. More likely, it was under a trans-dimensional-"

"Give it a rest and call him!" Angie, seemingly asleep, yelled from the backseat.

"I, well, I don't have his number."

"Oh, what a load of-"

"He doesn't have a-"

"For Christ's sake, Clara! I will personally get his phone number and give it to you, if it stops you yammering on about The Bloody Doctor!" Angie had apparently had her fill of Clara's thinly veiled yearning.

"Well okay then, Miss Grumpasaurus," Clara replied passively.

The next morning, as she fumbled around in the fridge for breakfast, Clara found a note on the eggs:

Happy Friday!

(please flip)

And on the back:

CALL HIM GODDAMNIT

With an unusual-looking phone number written below.

Mumbling incoherently to herself about mouthy children and needing to watch their language, Clara fiddled around to find her phone. It was necessary for her to dive headfirst into dialing-otherwise, there was too much time for her to talk herself out of it.

The phone gave a few tinny rings before a crackle of static broke through the line.

"Hell-O you have reached The Doctor although I'm not quite sure how HELLO!" All in one breath, The Doctor spouted this over the line. Hearing his voice brought to Clara's mind the strange movements he made whilst talking.

"Doctor! It's Clara!" she replied, rather breathlessly. Pull yourself together girl, she snapped to herself, you're acting like a teenager.

"Clara Oswald-Oswin! How've you been? How are you calling?"

Clara sighed internally. If she was to be honest, she desired no niceties-she wanted the Doctor on her front lawn, now. Snapping into a more dominant mindset, she continued.

"I am splendid, and I want to see you. On the front walk. As soon as possible."

She heard a slight mumble of confusion at the other end of the line.

"Or sooner."

Her tone of voice was the kick The Doctor needed. "Oh right! Yes! You will, uhm, see me soon Miss Clara." With a click, he was gone from the airwaves.

For a moment, Clara danced strangely about the kitchen, trying to figure out what to do next. Eventually the thought of her upcoming "date" with The Doctor prompted her to dash upstairs. Only a full ransacking of her closet could produce a suitable outfit for their meeting (or whatever it was called that was happening between them.)


End file.
